Hunger Pains
by Phoenix Moon 13
Summary: Sometimes, sex and death are the same thing...Parker meets a woman he can't wait to bed, good thing she's already eaten. Set during Pangs in season 4.


_**Hunger Pains**_

Author's Note: I love trying to pair off the most unlikely people possible, so here we go. Dru/Parker!

* * *

Parker Abrams' friends had no stamina whatsoever. They were a bunch of complete lightweights. They had left him to stumble back to their rooms, pissed and raucous. He, however, was barely tipsy, let alone blind drunk.

He pushed out of the Bronze and gave his jacket a hard wipe to sweep stray peanut shells from it. He couldn't remember how they got there, though it might have had something to do with the peanut war he and Pete had been having.

He was sick of the Bronze. It was full of kids. What Parker wanted was a bar. A bar meant beer and chicks. And as far as Parker was concerned, a chick would be the perfect end to the perfect night.

"Oh, thank you, God," he murmured, watching as ahead of him, a slim beauty glided out of an alley.

He tried to speed up a little without tumbling over and she must have damn good hearing because she turned to look at him. He blinked blearily at her and noted that she was dressed differently to most girls he knew.

She wore a long black dress and over that she had a dark, wine red coat with a deeper red fur collar. Her brown hair was loose and tumbled over her shoulders. She had pure white skin and he followed that down her chest to stare at her cleavage. He had seen better, but then, he had seen worse.

She put her index finger into her mouth and gave it a hearty suck, meeting his eyes as she pulled it out, following it with her tongue to swirl it once last time around her finger.

He stared transfixed as she did so. Then, she put her hands behind her back and walked towards him. It seemed almost like she skipped, a childish smile on her face.

"Hello," she said simply.

Woah. An English chick. Even better.

"Hey," he said, leaning against the wall of a building in an attempt to look like the cool guy he was. And also to escape the nausea swirling in his stomach.

"You're intoxicated," she sing-songed with a low laugh, leaning in toward him.

"Not much," he replied, staring down in her dark eyes.

She was humming, a low sound that he thought he could feel vibrating in his chest.

"Does the world spin?" she asked. "Does it dip and whirl and weave and curl?"

"Uh, a little," he admitted sheepishly, rumpling his hair as she pushed away from the wall.

She twirled in a circle, her coat and dress spinning out around her, revealing high-heeled lace up boots. Her head tilted back and her laughter echoed up to the sky.

"Do you like me?" she asked suddenly, stopping and fixing him with a serious look.

Her directness was almost a big a turn on as her looks. He shot her a charming smile.

"Do you like _me_?" he asked.

She stepped forward, the tip of her slender white finger drawing a gentle circle on his chest. The touch was feather-light, but he could feel her cool skin through his thin cotton shirt and the combination made him shiver.

"Oh, you like me," she nodded sagely. "I make you quake and shudder," her hand moved up and curled around his neck. "And I make the hair stand up on the back of your neck. I'm bored," she said suddenly, pulling away.

"I could help you with that," he said, stepping forward with a suggestive smile.

"Mmmm," she smiled, closing her eyes and twining her hands above her head as her hips swung from side to side. She opened her eyes slowly. "What's your name?"

"Parker," he answered. "You?"

"Dru," she replied and she was almost coy.

"Cool name," he said.

"Oh, no," she shook her head and wagged her finger. "Oh, no, no, no. Not cool. Not cold. I'm dangerous, hot, burning, searing. I could tear you apart. I could make you scream."

"Is that an offer?" he asked.

She bit her lip, giggled and turned away, taking his hand as she did so. She pulled him down the street, past the alley she had first appeared from.

He happened to glance down it and saw something slumped halfway down. He slowed and peered closer. But Dru caught his chin, drawing his face back to her.

He noticed her nails were red. Blood red.

* * *

It was dawn before Parker slumped into the bed, breathless and shattered. Dru stood up from the creaking bed and crossed to the window. The curtains were closed, but the light lit up the thin red curtains and Dru laughed in delight as she danced before it. Red stained her skin and he tugged helplessly on the chains holding him to the bed.

She ignored the clanking and turned her attention to the row of dolls lined up on a battered packing case. He closed his eyes; they burned from lack of sleep. His muscles ached and his mouth was dry. His stomach churned and yelled for food and his head throbbed with a hangover. His chest was a cross hatch of scratches, there were hickeys on the inside of his thighs and rope burns around his wrists and ankles, aggravated by the rusting chains Dru had replaced the ropes with.

"Dru," he croaked, but she was humming and he wasn't sure if she hadn't heard him or was ignoring him. "Dru? Dru, babe."

She looked up then.

"Yes, Parker?" she asked shyly.

He didn't answer for a moment. She had discarded her doll now and was sashaying back toward him. She seemed to glow milky white in the dull gold of the morning light through the curtains.

Her hair was mussed, giving her a wild, untameable look. And Parker had learnt last night that she certainly was that, wild and untameable. Perhaps she had been right last night, when she had said she was hot, burning and searing. Yes, she had been right. She had torn him apart. And God, she had made him scream.

But Parker wasn't complaining.

But he wondered if he should listen to the fear in his stomach. Fear that told him she wasn't just wild, she was crazy. Not fun crazy. She was the dangerous, padded cell kinda crazy. The kinda crazy that left people for dead.

And if that was true, this was probably the death part. Only the way Parker felt, he wondered if he was already dead.

"I've got class," he said after a moment.

She nodded, head bobbing as she reached for her clothing. She pulled on the long black dress, forgetting underwear and reached for a silver plated brush that she ran through her hair with hypnotic motions.

"Dru," he tugged weakly on the chains, his voice shrill with sudden fear and desperation. "Dru. C'mon."

"I thought you liked me," she pouted.

"I do. But I've got class. You -"

But he was cut off by Dru leaning over him and unlocking the metal shackles that kept him chained to the bed. Immediately he curled his arms around his chest, rubbing his wrists as he sat up, watching her unchain his ankles. He pulled his legs away from her, swung them over the edge of the bed and reached for his clothes. He dressed swiftly and shot Dru a glance. She was dancing again; completely unaware that anything outside of her and her dance existed.

Now that he was free and dressed, he thought how absurd his fear had been. To think that this lithe, delicate girl could harm him. She wasn't exactly grounded in reality now, was she? She was fantastic in the sack, but just because she had her kinks didn't mean that she was a psycho.

"Hey, Dru. I'm going now. I'll see you around."

"No, you won't."

He stopped and turned around to stare at her incredulously.

It wasn't that he wanted a relationship with her; Parker Abrams didn't _do_ relationships. But he couldn't remember the last time a girl had ended things with him. It was always the other way round. And though Parker sighed and called it an annoyance that these women kept tailing around after him, he actually rather liked it. It made him feel good about himself, it proved to him that he was every bit as good as he thought he was.

"What?" he asked, stunned.

"Oh, you poor boy," she laughed. "You think I burn for you. That I want you. You think I want ice cream and roses and picnics in sunshine with you. Silly, silly. Ice cream makes my teeth hurt. Roses are beautiful, but they wilt, turn black and die. And sunshine, oh, sunshine burns and eats the flesh alive. I don't want _you_."

Her tone was condescending, mocking and it made Parker seethe.

"Then what do you want?" he asked, unable to hold the question back.

"I want my boy," she said wistfully, sadly. "I want my Daddy. The air whispers of Grandma. Hell shifts and bucks beneath my feet. But my boy is shackled, chained. He doesn't sing or dance anymore. I want to save him, but the stars say he's lost. He was lost the first time he saw her. Slipped through my fingers and now he's falling. And now Daddy's here. I knew he would be, that's why I came. He watches in the shadows. She pretends not to see, not to know he's there. But she knows. She knows he's there, like he and my beautiful boy knows she's there. But they don't know I'm here. Nobody knows I'm here."

She sank onto the bed, pulling her legs up to her chest as she stared morosely at the dull red light filtering into the warehouse. He watched her for a moment, felt almost sorry for her. He reached out, hand hovering over her shoulder.

"We could go for coffee tonight, if you want," he offered. It wasn't that he wanted to _be_ with her. But he thought maybe he should… do something? She was obviously depressed and well, coffee would help that right? And who knew, maybe there would be more of that mind-blowing sex on offer.

"Don't like coffee," she mumbled. "Bitter and tearful."

"Dinner, then? I'm not after anything heavy. Just dinner."

She smiled lazily, tilting her head back to look at him. She stared at his neck long enough to make him uncomfortable. He shifted and rubbed his neck, feeling his pulse jumping wildly beneath his palm.

"No thank you, boy," she stood up, gently steering him out of the door and along the corridor to the heavy doors of the warehouse. She opened the door, stepping back into the shadows. She gave him a none to gentle poke in the back, shoving him out the door and slamming it closed after him.

He stood, staring in bewilderment at the warehouse she had brought him to the night before. Then, he shrugged, rubbing his sore wrists and turned away from the warehouse.

On the other side of the door, Dru was still talking to him. She sucked her fingers as she remembered the hot, rich, spicy taste of the blood from last night.

She had gorged on two lovers, caught them shagging in an alley. She hummed as she remembered the scent, the taste, the way they quaked in orgasm before they died. The arousal had enriched their blood, leaving her wanting flesh of her own. Not to sink her teeth into, she giggled, well, only for fun, not to feed.

She sighed and spoke to the ghost Parker had left behind.

"I can't go to dinner with you, boy, because I've already eaten."

* * *

_**The End**._


End file.
